Camelot's Wonders
by OneDarkandStormyNight
Summary: Drabble series about the true wonders of Camelot, the people who live there. Drabble 11: Poetry. Summary: Arthur was not actually good at poetry. At least, not the verbal kind...which is why it took a while for those he loved to realize exactly how he showed his affection, if not in words. Inspired by all those "friendly slaps."
1. Arthur's Strength

_I promise I'm still working on the Epilogue for Through Golden Eyes. It's proving to be more difficult to write than it should be with the dread of school starting Friday. Anyone want to rescue me from school? We can spend all day watching Merlin together. :D  
As stated, this is a drabble for _The Last Dragonlord_, set during the part of the show when the knights of Camelot agree to help Arthur fight the dragon._

* * *

"No rest for the weary," he'd heard a petulant knight complain once at Arthur's relentless training. That was true. There really was none.

He dismounted his horse and followed Arthur into the royal court, feeling certain that everyone could see how fragile and close to shattering he was.

Arthur had been silent the entire journey homeward, sullen and stony at the death of Camelot's last hope. He had spoken not one word, and for once Merlin did not attempt draw him out, for he had been quite sure that if he had tried speaking to his master, he would have broken apart on the first syllable.

Now, a voice—strong and sure and blessedly familiar—answered King Uther, the passionate tones echoing over the cold walls of the great hall, as they always did. Merlin could not understand the words, and knew not what important thing was being decided now that the last Dragonlord was gone and the great dragon still filled the night skies with terror. For once, he did not care what the future would be; it was _that voice_ to which he found himself clutching, to the utterly recognizable rises and falls of his master's tone, to the sharpness and fortitude underlying every word.

Arthur's booming and profound voice seemed to seep through him, past his grief and regret and self-pity, straight to his very soul. It seemed to renew him, to secure him, to lend him the strength he needed to fight the tears that threatened to spill.

Once again, he was reminded that this was the man to whom he was invisibly bound. No matter what happened or who he lost, there was always this tiny flame deep inside him that burned with the assurance that, though Arthur may never know it, he would never fail to be Merlin's strength.


	2. Guiding Light

_Yeah, I guess it's kind of a bit longer than a drabble, but it's still under 500 words, which makes it drabble-ish enough for me. *hehe*  
So sorry it's taking me so long to update...well...anything. But I do have a reasonable excuse; my laptop is sick. As in, repeats the opening sequence over and over and over and over and over and infinity sick. Therefore, drabbles are a good job for me at the moment. I don't think I'm even supposed to be on the main desktop right now...(*makes mental note to learn to type quieter*).  
This is for _The Labyrinth of Gedref_, because I read way too much into that vaguely alarmed look he got right before he dashed out to the shore where Merlin was..._

* * *

**Guiding Light**

It was like a sharp stab, though not physical, certainly, and barely more than a slight twinge, striking him suddenly and seemingly without reason.

He had determined within himself that he would not panic, no matter what sort of evils he came upon or how desperate he felt. He would not rush, or flee, or run. He would remain calm and in control, taking his own time to traverse the Labyrinth of Gedref and unflinching in his resolve to do just this.

Then, he had felt it—this odd, inexplicable intuition like nothing he had felt before. So very vague it was, he could not even determine whether this new feeling pierced his heart or his mind. It was not the same instinct which rushed through him when he or another was in a mortal danger (for he had been in quite enough of that to know precisely how it felt); nor was it the same, faint sensation which stirred in him when Morgana or someone else for whom he cared was ill or unhappy.

It pricked someplace in between the two, he thought—an isolated piece of his soul where something entirely new and indefinable had seemingly taken up residence without his even noticing before now. It was something tiny, he felt, very gentle and fragile, like a minute pinpoint of light…

…_a blaze of purple…_

He shook his head as this ridiculous thought pushed its way to the forefront of his mind, and suddenly realized, against all his mental preparation, he was running.

It was leading him. He could feel it. This strange instinct, _this purple light_, was leading him from within through the Labyrinth.

He stepped onto a shore, and when his eyes fell upon the gentle and fragile-looking figure poised at the table, seated before two cups and under the heavy gaze of the mysterious sorcerer who had brought him here, the feeling vanished and was forgotten.

It was not until years after, when the fleeting, purple blaze had increased and thrived into a never-ending orb within him and its source had become his most treasured ally in all things, that the King of Camelot thought back to those few moments and laughed at his own blindness.

Even when the both of them had least known it, Merlin had been his guiding light.

**Fin**

* * *

_Two things.  
One: My teacher and I can't decide whether or not King is supposed to be capitalized, because it seems in my schoolwork that the word "king" is always capital when referring to the King of England (er...Albion. Whatever.). Help?  
Two: Due to the fact that my laptop is being...stressful...and the new Merlin series is making me insane with impatience, I would like to take this time to say that, if you're not one of those paranoid people, I'd be glad to share my cell number with you if you let me know in a review or PM. :) I like to text, and I think it would be fun to have a little "web" of us together to update one another on fanfics, episode news, etc. It's not a requirement or anything; just an idea. :)_


	3. Sneeze of a Sorcerer

_This one is set after my fic, Through Golden Eyes, but if you haven't read that one, all you have to know is that Arthur knows about Merlin's magic at this time. And Merlin is allergic to the flowers on Arthur's table..._

* * *

**Sneeze of a Sorcerer**

Merlin did not have even the chance to warn Arthur before it happened. The tickling in his nose grew unbearable, and a sneeze as forceful as a winter wind exploded past his control.

When he opened his eyes again, the room was blanketed in white and Arthur's hair was frozen like blondish-blue spikes straight atop his head.

The prince dropped the spoon held halfway to his mouth, which landed in soup now as hard as rock, and Merlin let out the very first heat spell he could recall. The snow and ice vanished from every corner of the room, leaving Arthur staring, opened-mouthed, at his again-steaming soup.

Merlin innocently rolled his eyes upward, rocking on the balls of his feet for a moment, torn between bursting into laughter, feigning ignorance (which would probably be pointless, since Arthur was well aware of his magic), and assuring his master that no, this did not mean his powers could be dangerous after all.

When he finally grew brave enough to sneak a peek at Arthur's face, their eyes met—tentative gray to astounded blue—and their reaction hit them both like a sudden rainstorm.

Five minutes later, when Uther Pendragon opened the door of his son's rooms, he was unsure whether he should be appalled or concerned to see Arthur half-bent in his chair, tears spilling down his reddened cheeks, with his servant limply collapsed on the floor beside him, both so lost in their wild hysterics neither noticed him at all.

Uther closed the door and left them there, wondering, not for the first time, if perhaps it had been a mistake to put that idiot boy in the position of Arthur's servant.

Inside the still-chilled room, Merlin had never laughed so hard in his life...or been so happy.


	4. Care

_Thought we could use with a little sweet stuff after _Until the Day I Die_, so here's a drabble based on last week's episode, _Aithusa_._

* * *

**Care**

They had been planning it all day. Even gentle Elyan was not averse to a cunning prank when it involved Merlin; he was, in the words of Arthur himself, _"So much _fun_ to torment."_ And indeed, Arthur was correct, for watching mild-mannered, innocent-eyed Merlin grow pink with frustration and bite the vexation from his tongue before it could spill out in brutal honesty at Arthur's and the knights' insensitive behavior had instantly become one of their favorite pastimes. It had turned into a sort of tradition that, when they found themselves on a journey, Arthur would devise some cruel practical joke—sometimes complex, sometimes small—to play on poor, naive Merlin. They would all be involved, but in the end, it was Arthur who would laugh the hardest at his flustered manservant.

Even so, it did not escape his knights' notice that, when Merlin huffed away to feed the horses as the young king had commanded, Arthur did not allow Leon to hide Merlin's bowl until he had put two more large spoonfuls of the stew into it.


	5. His Life, My Life

_Drabble for Le Morte d'Arthur. And I won't ruin it with a rambling Note this time._

* * *

**His Life, My Life**

He watched as Gaius poured the liquid down Arthur's throat. The droplets of water sparkled and glimmered as their cool touch soothed away the pain in their prince's dying body, and he realized that he was somehow mesmerized by the reflection of light in them—or was it life? _His _life?

His fingers knotted in sweat-soaked, blonde hair, and he found that he could not pull his gaze away from the man he held in his arms. He looked down into the familiar, strong handsomeness of his face, albeit so very thin and pallid now, and he felt no fear or regret for the choice he had made.

Even before he had given it to him, his life had already been Arthur's.


	6. Penalty

_Drabble for The Crystal Cave._

* * *

**Penalty**

Arthur never asked what became of them.

When he awoke, he simply cast one glance to Merlin, who sat staring broodingly into the dying fire. He grunted out what may have been his manservant's name, and then proceeded to stand up and say rather flippantly,

"What happened to the arrow in my back?"

Merlin tossed some halfhearted answer in the prince's general direction. It was quite typical of him, really, to offer a brief, "Wow. Ah…thanks," to his servant for evidently saving his life, but to entirely forget to ask exactly how he did it.

Not that Arthur would ever know, but it had taken Merlin less than a minute to effectively magic the three bodies of the dead bandits beneath a pile of nearby dirt.

* * *

_I know what you're thinking—that it's a bit dark!Merlin for him to go and kill the guys, but they probably were aiming to fire at him next, so I see him as having no choice. And they hurt Arthur._


	7. Something Much Worse

_Another one for The Crystal Cave._

* * *

"_I had to stop the future. I had to stop Morgana killing Uther."_

* * *

**Something Much Worse**

It wasn't Uther's death which frightened him.

Of course, Uther was the king, and more than that, he was a person, with a soul like any other. Merlin could hardly bring himself to _wish_ for the painful death of another, no matter what he had done or how little regret he showed for it. Even so, the vision of Morgana's killing the king was not truly shocking, for he knew, even then, deep inside himself, that she would someday. Seeing it was not enough to send him scrambling for a way to stop it, as he desperately did.

Gaius tried to calm him, telling him not to worry so much, for whatever future he saw in the crystals was yet unstable, easily manipulated.

He could not be calmed. He had seen it, that one vision which had been mere flashes between more prominent ones, more subtle and distant than the others picturing Uther's death.

He could not keep from thinking that, if he could alter the immediate future and keep Morgana from killing Uther, then, decades from now, he might also stop Mordred from slaying Arthur on that inevitable battlefield.


	8. Birthday Gift

_This I wrote as a birthday gift to myself, because today, I am officially seventeen years old! (Man, has it sneaked up on me this year...!) _

* * *

**Birthday Gift**

From his people, he received fresh flowers and seeds upon the front stairs of the castle, and when he took his personal noontime walk in the streets, men and women bowed and offered their loving gifts of fruit and fine linens to him with adoration in their eyes; he refused most of these things, but assured each and all that he was grateful and that their loyalty was all that he desired.

From his knights, he received wide and sincere smiles from the newer and meaningful thumps on the back from the older, and from Gwaine he received the question of what they would have to drink at the evening feast.

From his beloved wife, he received a braided leather bracelet which he supposed must have taken a great deal of time and talent to make; she had, in that particular manner which made him feel strangely warm and at ease, quietly told him it was a way for him to remember her affections no matter if they were apart. Normally, he was not one for sentimentalisms, but he gladly accepted this one which was simple enough to be appealing, just as she had known it would be.

Still, none of these things lifted him entirely out of his low spirits as he remembered the terrible death this day now also symbolized, and he entered his chambers that night feeling weary and heavy-burdened after barely managing to escape the grand feast thrown in his honor.

Merlin had been absent for the first few minutes of the banquet, but he had hardly wondered at that; Merlin was absent for most everything.

When he saw the warm glow from the fireplace flickering shadows into the carefully-formed edges of an unfamiliar statuette, and touched his hand to the carved crown upon the small, wooden dragon's head—identical to the heavy golden crown he had just removed from his own head, he decided he could forgive his manservant's lateness, just this once, because the dark shadow in his heart was suddenly lifted by this subtle reminder of the king Arthur was destined to be.

* * *

_Wish me happy birthday in a review, maybe...?_


	9. Help!

_I'm pretty sure this is against the rules, but I (as in, Rin, the writer...*waves*) have a question that concerns a fic of mine, so hopefully I won't be reported and kicked off the site for a false update or something. My question for all of my readers who would like to assist me in a big story I'm writing at this very moment is this:_

_If Arthur was living in modern times, and his father was the owner of a major company (so major that their family was a celebrity family because of its fame), what type of company should it be?_

_Or should it be a company at all?_

_Basically, I don't know anything about this sort of thing, and I thought all of you intelligent readers would be the best people to ask for advice. There are no bad ideas (because you're bound to have better ones than me), and whoever offers their help will get full credit for it, even if I don't choose your idea._

_Help?_

_Love,  
Rin_


	10. Jealousy

_Okay, so if you could have seen me watching Merlin last night, you would have thought I was a crazy person. (And maybe you'd have been right.) When Merlin said that about magic having a place in Camelot, I actually paused it, quietly shouted at him for a good minute and a half, and proceeded to shake my head with a tirade of sarcastic comments the rest of the episode.  
Yeah. I'm a bit of a fangirl.  
The show is becoming so complicated; I love it, and I had to write this to explain the whole situation to myself._

* * *

**Jealousy**

To have created Arthur to lead Camelot, and then to place a curse so heavy upon him—it was beyond Merlin's comprehension. As it had always been, the gods were to him a complex puzzle that was impossible to solve.

To the gods, _he _was the puzzle.

Emrys. The one who they'd thought held such potential for their cause, to whom they'd given more power than any man before, expecting it to make his thoughts and decisions more like theirs. He was not what they had expected. He had had the chance to set free the Old Religion, to set them up high on their pedestals before the people, as he was meant to do, as he was _created to do, _and he had changed the path. _"There is no place for magic in Camelot."_ That was the worst kind of rebellion.

They did not have love, such a base human quality, and so they would never understand him though they once thought they did. They would never understand why he looked into Arthur's wide, blue eyes before that flickering fire, so close to the cave where the Triple Goddess gave her judgments, and decided that he would rather welcome the judgment on Camelot than see Arthur die.

They had created Arthur to be Emrys's playing piece, the crowned figure he guided across the board under their authority. They did not expect mighty Emrys to _love_ the human king, or at least they did not expect him not to love them _first_.

But against their plans, his human heart had come to love Arthur.

Love had made the unity of Emrys and The Once and Future King a failed expectation.

And so, jealous of Arthur, they condemned him, and so condemned them both.

* * *

_I actually like to think of the gods as nice, though, and that they have a good reason for everything that will not end in doom and destruction; this is just a tragic way of explaining last night's episode that will hopefully be disproved later this season. Hopefully.  
By the way, next chapter of Our Brother's Keeper will be posted later tonight, if you were looking for it.  
Thanks for reading!_


	11. Poetry

"_So…does that mean that you're not going to hit me anymore?"  
"When do I _ever_ hit you?"  
"All the time."  
"That's not hitting, Merlin. That's maybe friendly slaps. It's horseplay."_

* * *

**Poetry**

Contrary to the rumors now floating around the castle (_thank you, Merlin_), Arthur was not actually good at poetry.

He liked to talk. He really did. He really had no room to tease his manservant for pointless prattle when he was the _king_ of it. Literally. He could go on and on and on about how to improve Camelot and how to defend Camelot and how to unite with other lands to give more allies to Camelot. Merlin was a better listener than he was a cupbearer or a cook or a lackey; that was probably one of the reasons why Arthur had grown so fond of him so quickly.

He just couldn't _say_ that. He didn't know how. Even Guinevere didn't get to hear everything he felt in his heart.

So instead of speaking it, he subconsciously invented his own form of poetry. Eventually, those he loved learned what each line meant. A ruffle to your hair or light fingers across your back meant that he was quite fond of you. A smack to the head meant that you were an idiot but he was glad you were there with him anyway. A yank to the sleeve or front of your shirt or a rough shove meant that he was frightened but wanted you to know he was going to protect you. A clap on the back or shoulder meant that he was proud of you and proud to stand with you. A light touch to your face or hair meant that he loved you dearly and wanted you to know it, as did all his kisses and embraces.

A friendly slap meant that you were his best friend and he didn't ever want to lose you. The harder the truer.

* * *

_Lackey. I really like that word. Laaaackeeeey.  
Anyways, I just felt like I should post something so you'd know I wasn't dead or in a coma or whatnot. I am working on Chapter 3 of Our Brother's Keeper; it's just not working with me...so sorry. It'll be posted by the end of the week, I'm expecting. Until then-Happy Thanksgiving to all of my fellow Americans!_


End file.
